


As sweet as it should be

by Zekkass



Category: A Bit of Fry and Laurie
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/pseuds/Zekkass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Control misses Tony; Tony misses Control.</p><p>The important thing is the coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As sweet as it should be

**Author's Note:**

> For jabber_moose.

Tony slowly drags a finger around the rim of his coffee cup, thoughts elsewhere, away in a nondescript office on the sixth floor. He remembers every detail about the room, from the standardized folders to the desk lamp, to the occupant of that office.

Tony Murchison, former subsection chief of the East German and related satellites desk, tears his thoughts away from that office.

He shouldn't be surprised if he never sees Control again, seeing as his skills were no longer needed by Control or his superiors.

The coffee, when he drinks it, is cold, bitter, and black.

||

Control looks sadly down at his coffee cup, lamenting the loss of one Tony Murchison and his skill par excellence at concocting the perfect cup of coffee.

He misses Tony for other reasons, of course, but he finds his thoughts drawn back to the man every time he has the beverage. It's almost sad, he thinks, that a man with his position should be distracted so easily from his job.

Still, he thinks. It may be time for him to visit his former employee. Check up on him.

He sips the too-bitter coffee and sets it down, thinking: not yet. He'd potentially disrupt Tony's new life, and he'd hate to be an inconvenience, or worse, a danger.

He still has enemies, after all, enemies befitting a man of his position, and he'd feel simply terrible if they decided to make Tony's life unpleasant on his account.

So: not yet.

||

Days pass, and a week, and Tony finds himself another job, another position in London. He tries to move on, tries not to think about his former job quite so often, and instead pushes himself to adapt to a life less defined by secrecy.

It occurs to him one morning that he has no idea what Control's name is.

It occurs to him minutes later that he shouldn't care. Not anymore, as it's none of his business what his former boss is up to.

The thought nags him. He spends minutes here and there sunk in memories, attempting to sift back through glances of files here and there, of placards on desks, of papers seen on foreign desks.

His memory may be photographic, but if the information isn't there to be seen, then he has no chance of finding it. At the end of the fourth minute he sighs to himself and stops.

It's no use. He'll have to live without the information - and Control.

||

Control slips up and yells at one of his subordinates.

Almost immediately afterwards he can't believe he let go of his temper like that.

"I'm awfully sorry, Tom," he says again, and he truly is. "I should never have lost my temper like that."

"It's okay," Tom says, giving him a reassuring smile, and Control knows he is a good agent, if just this side of lazy. It's a trait he usually overlooks in favor of Tom's otherwise stellar work, but today his temper frayed, and Tom was late with a report, and that was that.

He apologizes again.

"It was my fault, Control," Tom says, and that's true.

Control falls silent for a minute, then resolves to himself: he's been too tense lately. He'll grant himself some time this weekend to go for a walk.

Perhaps, he thinks, he should visit To - 

"Can I go, sir?"

He looks up, almost grateful for the interruption to his thoughts.

"Yes, Tom. Try not to be late next time, please?"

"You got it."

||

They meet in the park. Control's feeding the ducks, as is his wont on Sunday afternoons.

Tony's simply out for a walk. He never meant to visit the duck pond in the park, or meet Control.

Control's seated on a bench, scattering bread to the attendant ducks, chiding them gently for rushing the bread, and Tony stops when he sees him. It's as sudden as anything, and he takes a moment before he continues walking, approaching the bench.

"Oh, hello," Control says, and Tony knows he's as surprised as Tony is. "Tony Murchison."

"Control," Tony says, and he scolds himself: he sounds polite, not friendly, and he wants to sound friendly. He misses Control, for heaven's sake. "It's been too long."

"Yes," Control agrees, and Tony sits on the bench next to him, taking a slice of bread as Control offers it.

He shreds it silently, tossing pieces to the ducks, and it's nice. Nice to sit in companionable silence with Control as they both wait for the other to speak.

He looks at Control, and can't help the smile.

"It really has been too long, Control."

"Yes, Tony. I agree."

"You look well."

"So do you," Control says, and he wipes his hands, done feeding the ducks. "I hope life has been treating you well."

"Yes," Tony says, and he realizes that he has nothing to say to Control. There is nothing interesting he can tell him, and he can't very well expect Control to talk about work, as his work is classified. "Oh dear."

Control looks at him, concern writ plain on his face.

"I don't know what to talk to you about, Control. We seem to have exhausted the available topics."

"Oh." Control pauses. "I see what you mean, Tony. That is a shame."

"Yes. I wanted to talk to you more."

"What about, Tony?"

"I'm not sure, Control. I simply wanted to spend some time with you." Tony ducks his head, realizing what his words sound like. "If that doesn't bother you - I hope it doesn't bother you, Control."

"No, not at all. You see, I've missed seeing you at eleven o' clock every week day with a fresh cup of coffee, Tony."

"And I've missed bringing it to you, Control."

They look at each other, and then away, Tony sincerely hoping that he's not blushing. It's ridiculous that he should be thinking that way about Control, and that he should sound like a lovesick schoolboy in front of his ex-boss. He realizes that, and all the same - 

"I have an idea, Tony."

"Yes, Control?"

"What do you say to bringing me a fresh cup of coffee at eleven o' clock on _weekends_?"

"But Control," Tony says, willing himself to calm down. "I don't have clearance to go to your office anymore, and besides, you aren't in your office on weekends."

"Yes, Tony, precisely. I will not be in my office on weekends."

"Then - where will you be, Control?"

"I will be at home, Tony. Would you mind making coffee there?"

"Not at all, Control," Tony says, and he can't believe it, he just can't believe it.

It's almost too good to be true, he thinks. He wonders if he'll wake up.

Discretely, although he is certain Control will spot the gesture (the canny old spy), he pinches himself.

He doesn't wake up. Control's still there, giving him a friendly (a slightly concerned?) smile. The ducks are still clamoring for more bread, and the sky is still its usual overcast grey.

"I look forward to it," Tony tells Control as they stand up, and they shake hands on it. It seems the polite thing to do.

Tony can't keep himself from humming as they go their separate ways.

||

Control's place is a small flat that Tony worries is too spartan for the man - it looks like a hotel room. If Control's put his personal touch to the place, it's not obvious. Tony doesn't mention it, it wouldn't be polite to, but he feels displaced by the absence of personal effects all the same, and that feeling is exacerbated because it's not the office. He has no business being here on a Saturday, even less on a Sunday.

The kitchen is functional, however, and contains all he needs to brew coffee for Control, who, to Tony's surprise, hovers. Not literally, of course. He's at Tony's elbow whenever he turns, however, and at one point Tony has to take a deep breath before he snaps at Control to give him some space. It's quite rude of him to even think that.

Tony's not usually this irritable. He acknowledges it, and tries to calm down as he focuses on the familiar rhythms of making coffee.

Control, to his credit, seems to pick up the shift in mood and moves back, and Tony turns to him minutes later with a fresh cup of coffee ready for him.

It's made just how he likes it, and Control's contented smile is everything Tony was hoping for in coming here.

||

That's how the new routine starts. Tony brings the good coffee beans, Control supplies the kitchen and coffee pot, and there's nothing special about the conversation, nothing special about the visits at all.

That's how they are, simple polite conversation with too many empty spaces in it, and Tony finds that he missed it, almost as much as he missed Control.

He never stays for long, he never tries to pry into Control's life, and yet the visits are everything he could have asked for from Control.

Simple, sweet; Tony pulls his thoughts back to reality, smiling suddenly at his paperwork.

Control's not a cup of coffee, after all, and neither is Tony, and Tony most certainly can't drink Control, and even if he could he wouldn't want to, for then Control would be gone and what would he do?

"Penny for your thoughts," offers Tony's coworker, and Tony ducks his head with a shy smile.

"I'm thinking about a friend," he says, and feels warm at the thought. Control, a friend. He likes that.

"Could've fooled me. You're looking a little star-struck there, buddy."

"Oh, you," Tony says, and he returns to his work quickly, hoping his face isn't as readable as he thinks it is.

But that's it, isn't it? His coworker has hit the nail on the head.

If only it weren't impossible, Tony thinks, before losing himself in his work.

||

They sit together in Control's kitchen, sipping coffee together and engaging in pointless small talk.

It's the highlight of Tony's week, and Control's as well.

||

"Control, I was wondering - " Tony stops, breathes, and asks: "I was wondering if you could tell me your real name, now that we're friends instead of in that awkward position of superior and subordinate."

"Oh," Control says. "Certainly." He tells him. It's a nice name. Tony never would have guessed.

"The name Control is an effective cover," Tony tells him.

"Yes."

"Thank you for telling me," Tony says, and pauses. "I'm afraid it will be some time before I can think of you as anything other than Control. I'm sorry if that's a bother."

"Oh, not at all. I would actually prefer to be thought of as Control," Control says. "It's wormed its way into my home life, and even my brother calls me Control now. I quite like it."

"If you're sure?"

"I am."

"Then...thank you, Control."

||

The weeks wind on, and Tony still isn't sure what to do about his persistent feelings for Control. He isn't sure if Control would even approve, let alone share in them.

The turning point comes when Tony puts his coffee cup down, drums his fingers on the table in unspoken nerves, and Control reaches to cover Tony's hand with his own.

"Tony, forgive me for being so bold, but I'd like it very much if you stayed for longer today."

"Yes, Control, I'd like that." Tony doesn't know what else to say. His pulse, he is sure, is racing. He's lying, he thinks, and hastens to say: "Cub's honor."

He can't help an embarrassed blush, realizing what he's said, what he's implied, and Control hasn't even taken his pulse.

They look at each other, and Control's smile is kind.

"Cross my heart," Control says, tone matching his smile. He leans in.

Their first kiss is as sweet as it should be.


End file.
